X-Men Oneshots

Trust Issues (Hank McCoy)

The sun was setting over the Xavier Institute, casting a golden hue across the mansion. Y/N had just returned from a long day of training with the X-Men, her mind buzzing with the thrill of combat practice. As she strolled through the hallways, she overheard hushed voices coming from the library.

Curiosity piqued, she paused just outside the door, her heart racing as she recognized the familiar timbre of Hank's voice mingling with another. The conversation was tense, and she strained to listen, her brow furrowing as she caught snippets of words that made her pulse quicken.

"I know it was risky, but we had no choice—" Hank's voice was urgent, filled with the weight of the words he was saying.

"—You should have told the team the full extent of the mission. They deserve to know what they're getting into," another voice replied.

Y/N felt a pang of hurt in her chest. Why hadn't Hank shared this information with her? She took a deep breath, pushing the door open. The two men turned to her, surprise and concern flashing across Hank's face.

"Y/N, I—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Y/N interrupted, her voice steady but laced with anger. "What else are you hiding from me? I thought we were a team."

Hank's expression shifted from surprise to a mix of guilt and frustration. "It's not like that. We didn't want to burden you with unnecessary details—"

"Unnecessary details?" she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. "You're keeping secrets, Hank! I heard everything. I thought we were supposed to trust each other!"

He stepped closer, his blue fur catching the fading light. "Trust goes both ways, Y/N. You know I care about you, but I'm trying to protect you. The mission was dangerous—"

"Protect me? You think I can't handle the truth?" Her voice rose, echoing off the walls. "I'm a member of this team, Hank. I deserve to know everything, not just what you think I can handle!"

Hank rubbed the back of his neck, frustration evident in his posture. "It's not about that. It's about keeping you safe, and I—"

"Just what?" she shot back, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. "Just want to keep me safe at the cost of our trust? That's not what I want from you, Hank. I want to be in this with you."

The silence stretched between them, the air thick with tension. Hank's jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might walk away. But instead, he took a step toward her, frustration melting into something more vulnerable.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just scared of losing you."

"Then don't push me away!" she pleaded, her anger beginning to wane, replaced by an aching need for connection. "You're not losing me, Hank. Just let me in."

Hank's gaze softened, the fire of their argument cooling into something deeper. "I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching out to cup her face with a gentle hand. "I didn't want to keep you in the dark. I wanted to shield you."

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. The anger faded, leaving only the vulnerability they both shared. "You don't have to shield me, Hank. I'm stronger than that."

"Can we just start over?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, filled with hope.

Y/N opened her eyes, the world around them fading into the background. "Yes," she whispered.

Without another word, Hank pulled her into a passionate embrace, their bodies fitting together as if they were two pieces of a puzzle. The heat of their argument transformed into an electric connection, their lips finding each other in a desperate kiss.

As they pulled away, both breathless and vulnerable, Hank rested his forehead against hers. "I'm here, and I won't let you go. I promise to share everything, no more secrets."

"Just be honest with me," she said softly, her heart swelling with love and relief. "That's all I ask."

"Always," he replied, a small smile breaking through his earlier tension. Together, they stood in the fading light, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead—together, as a team.